The Dangerous End of Dalliance
by The Long Fall of Prose
Summary: Mitsui has nothing to lose. Rukawa has everything to gain, and the rest felt unreal. For it is one thing they both wanted. MitRuMit. Disclaimers apply.
1. Boredom

_Standard disclaimers apply. There are no indications of time and majority of things here are flashbacks, and I'm violating the rules of syntax; the content is unedited as of now, so feel free to point out the mistakes. This for Ayi, who would not appreciate my take on this story (and for letting me borrow his line), and for Pollux and Strider - I finally made a MitRuMit, but I'm having a hard time about this pairing. Haha. Reviews/flames welcome, as always._

* * *

Hands slither away from each others' touch and but only to travel towards the restless collarbones, reaching, trying to subdue what's left of all resistances, and only the asphalt and darkness and a lonesome lamp post were the witnesses to the erratic language of their bodies – how long were they, what places have they reached and only to realize, that at time's end it was only four minutes that Mitsui and Rukawa have tangled themselves like long lost and star-crossed lovers. The alleys of Kanagawa, Kamakura district slept with the dimmest lights and only stray cats dare wander the place, or the bystanders who had nothing to lose and only violence to gain. Here both of them can no longer beware of time, or the muggers, or even being seen for that matter, Rukawa had everything this time around, and basketball, being the only one he cares about, has disappeared like it was nothing but ancient knowledge that is already in the ruins. 

Mitsui has nothing to lose. Rukawa has everything to gain, and the rest felt unreal. He takes his hand away from the blue-haired youngster's neck, roaming for a better touch underneath all the amorous nonsense of their touching thighs and the silent whispers, and everything felt unreal. He had nothing to lose, he thought, the world can watch as he makes it disappear.

And then he remembered, when Mitsui began his ministrations, when the blue-haired's hands began to travel towards his crotch, when Mitsui – the devil-may-care and the blitheness of his hands, the ex-gangster Hisashi Mitsui who had nothing to lose, he remembered it correctly now. He was supposed to buy something for his mom, what was it really? – and who would care, he thought, he loves himself more than his mother anyway, and it was here that Rukawa began to pull away.

* * *

**_The Dangerous End of Dalliance

* * *

_**

Nothing has ever marked prominence, Rukawa realized, and Mitsui was honestly not the type that the freshman would lust for. Hisashi Mitsui was all too lost and childish and naïve and someone who would surrender easily. The arrogant freshman, on the other hand, was a silent murderer of all innocence, and a much accepted person despite his apathy, and now the classroom began to feel smaller when his professor walked towards him, his shadow cast upon him, and asking him the numbing question.

"Do you even listen, Rukawa Kaede?"

The professor knew the answer. In fact everyone in the room knew the answer, and although Rukawa had better thoughts to think about (like planning how to pawn the so-called rival, or how to win the practice game later, or how to stalk Mitsui without being noticed) than wasting a second of his life to the numbing enterprise of education, he nevertheless went on to reply, "Yes."

The professor postpones when the bell rang. Lunch. And he has nothing but vacant time. And he would then go on for a walk in the fields and begin to be meticulous about seconds and minutes and hours because his vacant time has been reserved for the sole purpose of going into the unoccupied basketball gym. The sun is not as bright nor was it dull, and he hated it because Mitsui likes bleak weathers when they meet. In fact even Rukawa liked the weather bleak when their bodies graze against the cold metals of the lockers because it would only make him warmer at the other's touch. Yesterday he recalled was a much better day but Mitsui forgot; he always forgets.

He enters the gym, pristine at the eyes' touch and deafening when he, the so-called apathetic and nonchalant Rukawa – the unemotional fox, heard rough moaning sounds at the lockers. He narrows his eyes, because these soon-to-be people of indecent exposure have violated the sanctity of his meeting place. His pace increases and so did the moans, and he can only contain so much anger when he opened the door. Mitsui always forgets.

And the nonchalant Rukawa, staring at him, could only say no more than a silent whisper.

"It's not Monday."

Tonight, of course, is not Monday, with Mitsui frowning when Rukawa agonizingly pulled away from the warm touch, away from the carelessness of a touch that he has savored for a long time despite one month of agreements. A cat purred, startling them, and Rukawa becomes wary about the carton of milk that he had to buy for his mom – or was it really? – and Rukawa did what he's excellent at – nothing. "My place?" says the older man, more of an understanding than a question.

"No,"

"Why not?"

That blatant grin plastered on Mitsui's face has done wonders on this raven-haired freshman although the latter can only comprehend its meaning; and the world will disappear. Mitsui has flexed his body so that underneath the dim lights he is caressing Rukawa's neck and the other has to think of something that would make him forget the world. One month can mean frequent encounters and a million of stares and he has realized how pretentious memories can be, like when Mitsui made a bet about Sakuragi dribbling one hundred times and losing, and in the end Rukawa had possession of the ex-gangster's naked body and no one really cared. Mitsui has nothing to lose.

"I know what you're thinking."

Did he now?, he thought, suspicious, and Rukawa is amazed by the audacity of Mitsui's voice – carefree as always. Four weeks ago Rukawa knew that Mitsui, while walking for home, realized that he is being followed by someone too irrelevant to be noticed. It was after practice and their bodies, exhausted from the game, was beginning to retire and Mitsui is astonished at how Rukawa endured all the walking when his home was supposed to be across the bays and one needed to walk circles to get there. And annoyed as he is, he looked at him with wary eyes.

"What're you doing here?"

"Nothing."

"Really now, if I'm as deadpan as you I'll just doze it off 'til I drool."

Rukawa stares, vulnerable to anything that would graze Mitsui's vision. "Something y'want? Did y'lose your key to your house or something? I may have been a juvenile but I'm not that cheap," he grins. That blatant grin plastered on his face.

And so he just stares, the meaning of which would be revealed to Mitsui moments after when he reckoned that this was exactly how he stalked Kiminobu Kogure, the vice-captain of martyrdom, the average sacrificial victim who would go on depths to forgive every acts of infidelity that he would and will be committing, when Rukawa and Mitsui's encounters persisted for one month and he wanted no other choice but to play naïve and share.

"So what?"

Rukawa recalled that this is Hisashi Mitsui he's talking to when he declared that it's Tuesday and he was supposed to be the one underneath the blue-haired youngster, that it's not Wednesday and the vice-captain would have to abstain because it is the raven-haired freshman's day today, that it's supposed to be him all sweaty and glorified by the hungry hands of Mitsui. And while he is staring at them both Rukawa has not said a word and stood there while he is dismembered and the feeling was not as familiar as those touches, although in fact he wasn't sure if it felt bad at all. He was supposed to feel joyous and scandalous at the thought of the two men and their unearthly human ways and he was supposed to anticipate, plan ahead; he was supposed to feel nothing but it only proved that he wasn't only blind but dead.

"What the fuck're you doing here anyway?"

It was the exact question Mitsui threw after practice cleaning himself dry with the towels and Rukawa, disguised by the fresh towels, is being polluted with wanton thoughts that he almost reached his hands out to the far-away stranger that is the blue-haired when the rest of the team interrupted them and prevented any more awkwardness between them. Rukawa surmises that everything has to start somewhere, and he had to start somewhere, and he began memorizing Mitsui's home and every night, neighbors will be awakened by the persisting sounds of pebbles against the window panes and anonymous letters with shoddy handwriting and Mitsui has begun to play along. He can be as childish as the redhead but he's not as stupid as Rukawa, and Mitsui definitely had nothing to lose in this seemingly nonsensical gestures of romanticism that he kept it from Kogure for a few more weeks before truthfully speaking of the uncouth infidelity, although one month can mean frequent encounters and a million stares.

And it is here in Mitsui's room that every possible ways towards infidelity can be explored. A few days would pass and it would only mean nothing but the famished Mitsui looking for meaningless proximity. He would undress and Rukawa will be vulnerable, and Mitsui will grin and he will begin to touch, and Rukawa will savor every touch, as faded as they are in his memories, and both of them will fear of nothing because they knew that all ends are dead and there was nothing to do but touch each other.

And Mitsui will talk afterwards and Rukawa will always be silent.

"I just get tired sometimes y'know, like, I just am fucking tired, and I dunno why, it all gets tedious sometimes and I just can't take it. There's nothing to do, nothing to say. You know too well to anticipate, so you just play along,"

"It's not like I don't like him anymore," he continues, "He's all I have when the world falls apart. But sometimes you go to a dead end and... and then I get tired,"

"Then cool it off."

And so the unresponsive freshman rejoiced when he learned that Mitsui and Kogure cooled it off and realized an abundance of time for them both, he relished at the days in which Mitsui will only think of him and no one else, and all the dark corners of their neighborhood are explored by their tangled arms, where the rest of the world will be dead and they felt good at the uncertainty of all these so-called meaningless proximity. Mitsui had nothing to lose and Rukawa had everything to gain, that it was a mutual understanding between them both and Mitsui was resolved and satisfied and Rukawa will always want more, and on weekends they will find themselves into a long fall of this oxymoron. At the end of the day it was never meant to be an amorous play of human bodies, nor was it like the teasing silences that their naked limbs could mutter, with no sense of time or conviction, which precisely what they needed – or was it really?, thought Rukawa, because it was one thing he can hold on to, and without this capricious Hisashi Mitsui all ends into a sense of certainty, of being ahead as always, something that the freshman was taught of since a child, something that the freshman despised that, without the capricious Hisashi Mitsui, he was afraid that he, the deadpan Rukawa, was going to be mundane.

Kogure was never to be seen for the next few weeks because unlike the two of them he had a much better investment for future in case that old age reaches up to him, and the team has been too fit that Ryota Miyagi, the junior captain, decided to let the team for a two-day respite. Two days for Mitsui and Rukawa meant all too many encounters and a million stares and more than enough dark alleys to conquer, but it was at the second day that Rukawa, under the dim white lights of the lamp post and under the bleakest sky there is, under the dangerous end of dalliance, that he finally remembered what it was like to be certain, to be ahead as always.

"You certainly do," he says with coolness, and it was one thing that Mitsui despised in him, because coolness was never meant to relay any tangible message and he hated the fact that he cannot fathom what the raven-haired fox was saying.

"If y'think I feel guilty about this, y'can go away now and don't bother throwing stones at my windows because that'll only make me call the cops, or if you're the guilty one I can proceed kissing you 'til you don't feel it anymore,"

And over the next few days the sense of boredom would persist in Rukawa, and he would have to struggle going against it – is it now, he thought, that Mitsui infected him of his disease as well?

* * *

_tbc._


	2. Fortitude

The night is as bleak as the mundane days where one cannot fathom anything but the insignificance of the rising moon or the receding sun, or people's everydayness; the night, immaterial and with no stars at all, is as mundane as the chillness that the neighborhood has given off, and the dark pavements have been the light to make way for the expressionless Rukawa Kaede. He strolls with no unease, with nothing but the whelming desire to stir the night, to stir the senses off of Hisashi Mitsui whose body lay still by the mattresses, cold, and he's dreaming of a standoff between Shohoku and Ryonan and it was here that Mitsui had all endurance to play, because he knew that every second of dribbling, of shooting and passing – he knew that he does not have any endurance at all, even outside the game, and this is where all uncertainties and boredom and fatigue can be cleared away, and in this dream this is where he lay peacefully, and Rukawa, on the outside, was there to wake him up from a nightmare, from the deceiving grip of a castle in the sky that is too high to be reached.

Rukawa has been doing this for four days.

The first night, with the gleaming stars and the temperate winds, with all the warmth and docile protests from Kogure as he awoke – the first night, thought Rukawa, was as bleak as the mundane days where he can only fathom nothing except the insignificance of the vice-captain where the deadpan freshman, selfishly, has proven to the generous, mature brown-haired named Kogure Kiminobu that even outside the game he is more than capable to steal, dribble and pass by them, like he always does, and while Mitsui has nothing to gain when he heard of the tapping sounds, like something that's about to break, he nevertheless got up, ignored Kogure's protests, opened the window, and beheld by the sight of neediness before him – Mitsui thought that it was something about the team.

"You're getting annoying," he says on the first night.

Tonight, however, can only invite too many inspirations and encouragements and at the third pebble Mitsui awoke, alone, almost weary by the looks of his sleepy eyes; he thought that it wasn't for the team, nor was it for anything significant – and he, thinking that he has nothing to lose, opened the window and stared at the expressionless Rukawa before managing to say, "You're getting annoying."

Was he this needy?, thought Mitsui, or is this some gibberish he had to endure? – and now he frowns, thinking that he never claimed to be the man of fortitude, or does he even like him?, and assuming that it is then, why would he throw pebbles at his windows in the middle of the night? The second night had been relentlessly haunting him because the fourth pebble broke the windows and his right arm, like a stinging wasp or an ant bite, and the third day would have to be the day after the windows were repaired – he grinned at the desperation within the raven-haired, the animalistic desperation, the selfish neediness that Mitsui himself has relished in: for how can you not be needy when you don't have the fortitude to be generous, to be openhanded for Kogure?, or to feel bountiful at the decadence that is his life? To this Rukawa replied nothing but a haunting stare, a feeling of animosity, and Mitsui gives in to this curse that is delightful, uncertain – for he has nothing to lose.

"What're y'doing here?"

"Just looking around."

"There's internet, go figure,"

And the fourth night is its dangerous end of dalliance.

* * *

**_The Dangerous End of Dalliance

* * *

_**

It was Tuesday morning when Kogure awoke from the sounds of chirping birds, the alarmed jays in fact, the needy alarmed jays he thought, like they're always searching for their flock or always in a hurry or when they're envied by him, just flapping about and he thought that, although there may be times when he cannot endure another day sharing, or managing to negotiate at the pace of invasion that the freshman is declaring over the piece of land, like a precious island that is Hisashi Mitsui's body – why, he thought, does he still have this endurance?, this fortitude to share and to negotiate, and for another day he would, yet again, endure – perched by the branches, Kogure never was the woe of all heartaches but he is as needy as those noisy jays and flapping about... what was he thinking again?

What is he thinking?, he thought, or is it not maturity at all to share? – he woke up thus to these thoughts and went to school thinking that it's not Monday and but he would be under Mitsui's body, because it's not Thursday and Mitsui will go buy food for the party this week today because unlike Rukawa, their relationship was not born from the carnal impulses that his brain, if Kogure admits himself to think, can only think of. For who has the good sense of even bothering talking about the tangled love affair except himself, the sacrificial victim?, or unlike Rukawa, Kogure is always ahead of himself – for surely Rukawa cannot, if Kogure admits himself to think, even invest anything else except these carnal impulses. He went onto his third class by now, and Rukawa is on his first, while Mitsui, determined to stay for another year to help the basketball team, decided not to come to class and spent the morning, and will be spending the afternoon, at the gym – the sacrificial victim of all infidelities, if it can admit itself to say.

"Well? Something y'want?"

Rukawa does not move at all, and he launches another stare that Mitsui, who thought had nothing to lose, succumbs to the stare that meant he had everything to lose, his resistance particularly, this cold stare that made him understand what it was like to feel inferior to the warmest gaze, to the enduring warmth that made him numb enough to the point that he went on to just play along and but regretfully – this curse of boredom, he thought, was Rukawa bored?, or was he just playing naïve to the ridiculous gestures of dalliance that he himself did when he pursued Kogure? A long fall of minutes, and he started to clear his throat – and no word came out, like he's become mute, like he wanted to tell Rukawa that the room was getting smaller and he needed something to get out, like his blanket for rope or the stones that he kept inside his drawer, the pebbles he kept to remind him of something that will make his appearance pristine enough to be coveted by other people except Kogure.

Rukawa fades away, and Mitsui twitches his eyebrow next – and thus did he feel too handsome under the bleakest sky there is. This first night is its dangerous birth of dalliance.

Mitsui awoke and he saw darkness on the rise and he remembered now, the roaring sounds coming from the outside were thunders, boisterous thunders inspiring a heavy downpour, he thought he'd stop by at Rukawa's tonight because it's Tuesday – not it really mattered anymore, since Kogure lost any more daytime, or nighttime, nor would Kogure want to anyway, he thought – he's too mature that Mitsui cannot endure it sometimes, or is it really?, he thought, he has been with him for long months yes?, and thus is Rukawa's day today.

"No school today son," he hears his mother and the mutterings of the television.

A storm, she shouted across the kitchen, and she advised him not to go to school anymore because there's some storm today, or is he just thinking too redundant for his own good now?, he thought of the storm twice in a flash second, but it felt like something more damaging than a storm – for it was the first day that he and Kogure Kiminobu had cooled off, and it felt alienating, and he felt incomplete. Mitsui thought he had nothing to lose because he had everything to gain once he stops to endure and because Rukawa can make him repossess everything he's lost – the uncertainty, the ambivalent life and the blitheness that is him, but it felt strange.

He took a sip of his orange juice and let it thaw on his mouth – nay, it wasn't his body, he thought while eating white eggs and staring at his mom making more toast for his father, and it wasn't the storm nor was it the seemingly perfect interconnection of the kitchen and the living room – something else, he muses, and so he went on to watch the television to be reminded of the storm, yet again, how many times did he think of storms anyway?, and told his mother he will be taking his basketball practice today and he needed lunch, or money preferably.

The rains have wetted the floors when Mitsui arrived at the gymnasium just in time to relish the torture being bestowed upon the freshmen of basketball club, mopping the floors – Sakuragi was as loud as he can get, like he always is, Mitsui thought – and where is that darn fox anyway?, he cursed at his mind's eye, because he's itching to divulge the most useful and meaningful information that he can ever convey to the raven-haired, because his body is itching... and Kogure is not around... why think of him now, he thought, why think of the loss when he has something to gain?, he recalled he was the one who cooled it off, he reckoned he was the pristine handsomeness who decided to be coveted by other people (particularly Rukawa) except Kogure's tedious maturity...

"Get out,"

"What?"

"You're wet. Sheesh man, we're mopping!"

"Where's Rukawa?"

"Why should I know his whereabouts when I'm supposed to be his all-time hater huh? Now get out or I can't slam dunk Mitchy,"

"Don't call me that,"

A thunderous roar, and he went to the freshman's house.

The bell bellowed upon the faceless fields of the Shohoku High School and the students rejoiced at the thought of recess and company; Kogure on the other hand, had no other reason to take delight at this second, at these flash seconds of respite, but to see his devil-may-care Hisashi Mitsui, whereof such lightheartedness has been many of the things he endures, like a passing whistle across the hallway when Ryota motioned for his friends, or like a passerby – it all plays along, it all deceives into thinking that stability was something worth holding onto, because clemency and patience have their own rewards, because Hisashi Mitsui was uncertainty and he was the future, always ahead – the opposites, Akagi would always mention, the clichéd notion of attraction, the noble and unoriginal notion of them being together despite Mitsui being winter and him being the spring. He recalled that it was exactly this is how he took the relationship; it was exactly this oppositeness that reminded him of Mitsui's magnificence, as a frail creature and at the same time dangerous, as a creature which foreboded Kogure of all uncertainties and he relished at every uncertain moments with him... because, he thought, at the end of the day they were both as frail and dangerous, and only this matters in this world.

"You ready?" the brown-haired asks the silhouette, and the sounds of trickling waters reminded him of the beauty that is his Mitsui's body.

"Just a sec," was the reply, and Mitsui got out, he reached for the towels to dry himself, observes the other senior, but there was something else that he thinks is on Mitsui's mind, what was it now?, Kogure muses – that blatant grin plastered on his face, that grin which made Kogure lose any more fortitude when Mitsui grabbed his arms, like a force of nature, an amorous storm, the everyday end of dalliances for them both, and Mitsui kissed him, and he kissed back, they were now tangled and Kogure let out a meager protest.

"We're supposed to go to the store, r'member?"

"After this," the other whispers in his earlobes, and here Kogure wishes that he was those alarmed jays who always seemed too needy for their own good, because right now all he can think of are those touches and they sting like knives, bloodied, because he knew it was Tuesday and it was supposed to be Rukawa under the blue-haired youngster, because he was mature, because he is always ahead of himself, because it's the pristine gymnasium, he thought, what if Mitsui dirties it?

Mitsui roams his hands across his body.

"Not here," says the other.

"Why not?"

Kogure stared at him – this was the dangerous end of their dalliance.

"Tomorrow. Rukawa'll be here. I should know, so,"

"Fuck that. You're the one I'm with anyway, I'm sure he knows where he stands."

Kogure sighs and to Mitsui, it felt more like an understanding that everything here, right now, is an expression of everything they both had and will be having, everything they have invested in their relationship – he thought it was a sigh of commitment, particularly when Kogure raised his hands, ruffling his hair, his palm caressing his face with smiling lips, and now he touched his scar, darn it, he thought – he's the only one who can do that. Kiminobu Kogure sighed, smiled, and felt that he has lost everything they both had and everything they have invested – and with this in mind he gave in to the deceiving pleasure of their tangled bodies, and he relished at the unrepresentative expression of their relationship.

A long fall of minutes, and the door opened with a cautious sound; none of them, however, were as surprised or alarmed like the needy, loud jays.

Rukawa stares straight at him, and Mitsui, with that blatant grin plastered on his face, and the blue-haired is looking up at the windows that was now opened because of the persistent sounds of pebbles against its panes – the storm carries on, the thunders roar loud enough to speak volumes of meaning for them both, like a revelation. The winds blow in its bleakest force, and Mitsui, wet from the downpour, his stare began to become somber.

"Something y'want?" asks Rukawa.

Mitsui suddenly remembers more than enough memories, and gathered more than enough fortitude, an ample time and an abundant feeling of resistance – and so he fades away from Rukawa's sight, and the raven-haired twitches his eyebrow next – and Mitsui felt himself becoming the ugliest person under the bleakest sky there is. This first day of ending all boredom towards Kogure felt strange; and thus did he realize what force the storm has.

* * *

_tbc._


	3. Honesty

_There are no indications of time and majority of things here are flashbacks; there are also cursing and mindless reflections of the characters. Disclaimers apply. Allusions to Night Strider's A Tangled Love Affair (which I'm hoping to be updated by the way) and I borrowed a line from Arctic Monkeys somewhere in this prose.

* * *

_

He's talking backwards, like he's somewhere, outside this conversation, and he has his own hidden outbursts like he always have in times of disclosure or honesty, or in times when there is this need within the other, the so-called other that is Kiminobu Kogure – he thought that this is dishonor, that is not supposed to be, but then again he's doing himself and Mitsui the favor and forget all about self-importance and succumb to the dangerous candor, or reconciliation – or, precisely that which is on his mind right now – negotiation. It was this time of his life that he's shedding all possible mockeries or fraudulence or any grudge – is he taking grudges at all?, he thought, now that he's face to face with this man who gave birth to dalliances and wreckages and unemotional point of views, now that he, the so-called mature brown-haired – now that he was face to face to the source of all dead ends, of all weightlessness.

Today is as bright as Kogure's resolve. The sun arose at the vertical like an illuminating source of all knowledge and resolves, and he kept thinking that if it wasn't for the lovely day he would not have the decency to talk to someone who is as cold and dreary as the bleakest sky. It's the rooftop of their school building so Kogure thought that the sun was watching them, like a bystander of sorts, a witness to a mad sentimentality that Kogure has right now, some sort of honesty that Rukawa thought as mindless, as excessive. It all kills the joy, Rukawa thought, being certain about uncertainty kills the joy, it kills everything.

"Y'know why I'm here, so,"

He offers no reply.

"And you're probably bored as fucking hell... well, I deserve to curse nowadays."

"Y'wanna break me and sempai?"

"Well..."

Like he always is, Rukawa is ahead of himself, always on the edge of all certainties like he was taught of since a child, and he's always planning ahead, thinking ahead – because, as thinks right now, why would the senior curse anyway?, because it gives him enough time to mull over, to plan, to win, to always triumph, to be secure and to always gain something, because losses are indications of failures, because his sempai can only endure so much and he was saving him from the deceiving grip of Kogure's maturity.

"I don't. It occurs to me now I may have been seizing him too much."

Rukawa twitches his eyebrow next. "What d'ya want then?"

"Have him. Break him. Feel him, love him. He deserves some rest."

Rukawa recalled that this is Kiminobu Kogure he is talking to, and he was more mature than anyone else in the basketball club, why was he repeating mature every flash seconds now?, why is he talking this way? – or, is he dying?, well that would take some weight off of him... not that he wanted him to die, Rukawa thought, he just wants the other's love to Mitsui to die, to dangerously end all dalliances between the so-called opposites, to end the dalliance between the blue-haired and the fox so they could start anew, but there was something else... something foreboding, Rukawa thought suspiciously, as he always does.

"What's the drawback?"

"I'm not as leery as you Rukawa," the other says, somber. "I never said I'd break up with him, but he can rest once in a while,"

"Rest?"

"Y'know very well what attracted you to that bastard, so y'know what I'm talking about. He's a very... uncertain person."

This is what honesty can turn you into, a colossal force to reckon with, Rukawa thought, surprised at the other's audacity and his tone of voice, even to the point that the winds, as invasive as they are against their skin as the sun starts to meander away from them, like the illuminating source of all knowledge has started to disappear and all they have both right now are mountains of white clouds and darker shadows and murky sky, like what they have right now is uncertainty and lies. He flexed his right leg to seem like he's thinking about the so-called negotiation, but oh well, he thought, it's Kogure he's talking to and he knew that no one can escape from the seizing hands of his candor.

"Mitsui'll talk to you about it so you won't be left out at what we're trying to manage right now, but today is my day and I expect you to distance yourself from him. Tomorrow you can suck him all to your heart's content,"

Rukawa starts to lose his apathy, he's starting to melt at the leer that is Kogure's grudge, his courage and his maturity to talk, his fortitude and everything that he has invested in his relationship with the ex-gangster. He starts to get oppressed at Kogure's shadow cast upon him, and the air starts to suffocate him, Kogure's glasses offend him and it was here that Rukawa realizes what fear he has, what dread he has suppressed all his life, what vulnerability he has that all these have betrayed him and started to radiate – he hates himself now, he thinks, the feeling is strange and it felt like he was losing, despite the fact that he was given a space to this tangled love affair, despite the fact that he was given the opportunity to lambaste everything they have invested in their relationship, the opportunity to take away the boredom, to lose all fortitude.

To this Rukawa can only reply, "Okay."

And Rukawa will refuse to talk to him for the next month.

"You're wet."

"You're not trying to seduce me now are you?" Mitsui grins.

The freshman walks towards the windows to close it because the storm has done more than enough damage to his room now. He offers the other some dry towels and Mitsui has started to undress himself in front him – well, that's something that can compensate the wet and muddy carpet, but there was something bothering him, an anonymous feeling of suspicion, like he always does, and when he accompanied him to the showers, when he was almost enticed by the beauty of wet and naked limbs – he remembered something now, as faded as it is now in his memory... what was it again?

"Y'know yer supposed to wait 'til I'm clean enough," the other grins, yet again. He closes the door, Rukawa delays, blocking it with his foot – and the little space between them meant a universe of breach, of something beyond the naked bodies, beyond what they think they know... what is it exactly now?

"Why did y'ran away?"

"What?"

"Y'took off earlier."

Mitsui cannot respond, and gulped, hoping for any indication that might save him, something or someone like Kogure, the one who always saves, because, he thought, because he didn't want to inform him today that he's cooled off with him, because it's Kogure's day and the least he can do is not to touch Rukawa... because he pitied himself becoming too ugly, because it was happier when he had two people wrapped around his finger, or is it now, he questions, it was more stressful to manage time or the lack thereof – he just can't forget months of inseparability he thought he had with Kogure, and he has to honor it... so he would not tell today, thinks Mitsui, maybe when all the guilt washes out and fades away with the storm, or maybe he can share the showers with Rukawa?

"Want t'share the showers? I have a hard time scrubbing my back,"

"I will after this."

"Resolute as always," he sighs, "I was gonna tell y'something,"

"What?"

He clears his throat, and no word came out.

The rooftop of the Shohoku High School, if it can admit itself to say, has been the very witness to all things unsaid outside themselves, all things unspoken to their teammates and all things knotty, because under the bleakest sky there is, under the shadows of the gray skies, with a downpour looming and a heartache advancing each flash seconds, every little thing, all details of the rooftop can be profiled by the bored and, right now, anxious Hisashi Mitsui. The winds creep up to his uniform, from his feet and slithering towards his back, cringing him, and the sunlight is bleak, the water tank becomes distracting, the doors slide open and only to be closed at his eye's touch, the tiles fracture at the tapping of his right foot, his hair being mindlessly ruffled and Kogure, his Kogure – or the then-his Kogure, he looked patient.

This is the dangerous end of dalliance.

"What d'ya want to talk about?"

"Something unforgiving, I should know, but I wanna be honest with you,"

Kogure smiles, that warm smile plastered on his face.

"If you've decided to tell me about Rukawa, I think y'already accomplished that."

"That's... that's not it," the other replies, kicking the tiles, "Damn it Kogure! You and your smile,"

Kogure twitches his eyebrow next. "Me and my smile."

Mitsui looks straight at him.

"Ever since y'visited me to the hospital three years ago, when I injured my knee back then, I knew that I was gonna be with ye, I was, I was gonna grow old not forgetting how y'meant to me, how y'saved me – and how–"

The brown-haired raises his hand slightly, as if trying to wave hello, goodbye, he thought, why is he like this, why is he ahead of himself, as he always is?, why does he think too good for himself?, he thinks, because it was more painful to not anticipate and he somehow wanted the feeling to torture him, to release all candor and be the uncertain Kogure... anticipation has the habit of setting you up, he muses, and he smiles. "Spare me."

Mitsui can only clear his throat.

"I want to cool off."

He smiles more. "I thought y'were gonna break up with me,"

"I just need time. I've always wanted to tell ye how I've been not myself because of you."

"Me?"

He steps forward, and he does not smile.

"I've always been the devil-may-care shithead Kogure, and you've always known that."

"I... I changed you? How the hell is that even possible? I even let you fuck that Rukawa,"

Mitsui steps forward, and he does not smile. "It's been too long Kiminobu,"

"And you're bored."

"We don't get to do the things we did back then,"

"We're growing up. It's not like I'd still be in high school and play naïve as always–"

"I'm trying to be honest here, so please, just hear this out,"

"I honestly don't know what you're talking about Hisashi. I thought we had it all under control, and instead of telling me your problems you go on with your fuckery and I let you carry on with it because..."

A long fall of silence, and the sun starts to shine heavy upon them. How many months has it been since both of them released their hidden outbursts anyway?, the brown-haired thought, was Mitsui always like this when he was with him, when Mitsui was undressing himself for him, when he was following him to his house, when Mitsui was throwing pebbles at his windows... why, he thought, why was he growing up and the other was reverting back to ignorance, why was he mature anyway?, and as if the glowing orb up the vertical was enjoying the exchange of ablaze words here he is, right now, trying in all honesty to lock up all possible grudges, all possibilities of ache... and so Kogure looks down, and he thought that the tiles of the school's rooftop were the most beautiful things in the world. Mitsui reaches out his right arm towards the other's shoulder, sympathetic, because he knew what Kogure was going to say.

"One month, Kiminobu. I'll sort out myself, and I'm yours forever."

Kogure was never to be seen for the next few weeks and Mitsui realized a week after that the brown-haired senior went to Tokyo to accomplish more productive pursuits, like a college degree, because unlike the two of them he had a much better investment for future in case that old age reaches up to him, and the team has been too fit that Ryota Miyagi, the junior captain, decided to let the team for a two-day respite. At its second day, under the dangerous end of dalliance, Rukawa finally remembered what it was like to be certain, to be ahead as always.

"You certainly do,"

"If y'think I feel guilty about this, y'can go away now and don't bother throwing stones at my windows because that'll only make me call the cops, or if you're the guilty one I can proceed kissing you 'til you don't feel it anymore,"

And over the next few days the sense of boredom would persist in Rukawa, and he would have to struggle going against it – is it now, he thought, that Mitsui infected him of his disease as well? Definitely not, but would he have the courage to sort it out with the blitheness that is the blue-haired, he asks himself, he's been struggling to distance himself away from the boring enterprise of nakedness and touching and caressing, that he was too used at the dangerous alleys and dim lights and solitary light posts, the purring cats and the mindless encounters and stares. Is it now, Rukawa thought, that he was losing all apathy towards the man?, that he was in love?, that he wanted to take it further and wash his memories with Kogure anew?

He walks away from the school and spotted Mitsui standing at the gate, waiting for him, and Rukawa can see how bright the sun is, and he's thinking what joy it would be to undress under the clearest sky there is, like a revelation, a disclosure of all expressions of affection, a confession of all weaknesses, to end all dalliances and give birth to a healthy relationship. "Y'took the chains off my bike," he says against the grinning Mitsui.

"Yeah yeah, my style is rotted. I want y'to walk with me."

"Y'should've just asked."

"That would kill the fun, wouldn't it?"

It was the first time in years, Rukawa muses, that he has honestly smiled.

* * *

_tbc._


	4. Revenge

_Pardon me for the lameness of this chapter because I ran out of ideas to execute the plot I have in mind. Allusions to Sighing Familiarities but its plot is remotely far from this one. Unedited as of now._

* * *

"It's been a month, we're over."

The clacking sound of the keys against the door was more than enough as distraction for him, this thundering snapping sound of metal against friction, this bellowing force that made Kogure wince, although unnoticeable – did Mitsui notice it?, he asks, because he didn't want him to be seen wincing, cringed by what he thinks he knows, by what he thinks he heard a flash second ago, because he doesn't want to be seen by him cowering at the depths of all this retaliation, this grudge that has been suppressed for too long, this clacking sound of the keys that made him vulnerable and potent at the same time, this lingering wisdom in his head that taught him to be certain, to be ahead of himself.

It's Monday afternoon and Kiminobu Kogure's house has been cast with the bleakest sky there is, and the Kanagawa district lay in stillness against the soon-to-be downpour, against all these cowering and grudge, and against the pale face of Hisashi Mitsui, the blitheness of him, is he still the devil-may-care?, is he the familiarity he sighed for too long?, he asks himself – it's been a month and it's supposedly his day today... how come Rukawa's not here?, he thought, because he just saw them together the other day, by the bays, because Mitsui likes to hang himself around the coarse fields, because the waves breaking against his earshot soothe him, they isolate him to no end. Come inside, he thinks, come inside the house and he'll sort it all out, Kogure muses, nothing really matters right now because it's his day today, that Rukawa and Mitsui are just another faded memory, unbeautiful, unforgiving, unforgotten.

Rush into the showers, take it all off, take the weariness off of himself, be certain again, to think ahead, to punish what was unbeautiful, unforgiving, unforgotten, to relish anew what was his and what will be his, why now?, he thought... it was funny, to be on time as always, because Mitsui always forgets, because one month can mean forever and eternity is just a second and a passerby of the heart. He turns the knob, he swivels his head, come inside, he thinks to himself, and no one shall enter.

"Go home Mitsui,"

"No... wait, hear me out, I've been looking all over for y'and 'tis the first time I saw y'here in yer house again," he pants, and but to Kogure his breath smelled like Rukawa's sweat, this Hisashi Mitsui before him smelt of Rukawa's hair, it felt of everything he and Mitsui wasted for several months, which meant flash seconds of betrayal and one month of encounters.

Kogure's one-month departure can mean an eternity of possibilities, Hisashi thinks, just when he was about to take the train to accompany Rukawa by the Kamakura shrines, the freshman and his journey to innocence, because the festival will make them dreamy-eyed, because the snow falling in Kamakura shrines were godly and picturesque for them both to be forgiven so that, as faded as they are in his memories – Mitsui thought that it was something they both can hold on to when all falls apart, so that one day if either of them gets bored, they will be reminded of how they reached this far, how they became sacrilegious in order to be sanctified – because Mitsui has everything to gain and Rukawa has nothing to lose this time around... or so he thinks, or so Mitsui thought, because the last time he felt jealous was two months ago.

But here in this very place of so-called holiness, down by Kamakura's infamous shrines where its pillars looked like barricades to his sight and with Buddha the greatest of all tormenters, or witnesses... why, Mitsui thought, he has nothing to lose, but why is he jealous?, why are the snow flakes against his coat too warm even against Rukawa's cold shoulders, just shunning, and they're walking across the bridge when he saw Kogure, alone, sipping his warm coffee and looking like he was waiting for someone.

This is what the enterprise of retaliation is about, it ends all possibilities of dalliance between them all, and Mitsui thought that, this is just beginning, this is just what Kogure wanted... but why now, why here?, he asks himself, not that he's with Rukawa, maturity can turn you into a colossal force, because a mature mind can think of the consummate ways to crush the immature ones, like his, like the blitheness that is him... and he's just sitting there, all alone, with no one to speak to and Mitsui began to flex his body towards the other pillar, trying to persuade the raven-haired fox of the biting temperature.

"Y'want some coffee?" asks Rukawa, indulging the other of his caprices, yet again, because he was supposed to buy something, like a present, because the festival gives you the alleged universal duty towards your cohort, despite your abhorrence to these ways of endearment.

"Yeah, it's biting cold,"

"I'm watching the fireworks," he reminds Mitsui, and they headed to the cafeteria, and Rukawa muses how wonderful this night could be, to spend it without the malice of the bodies and to squander time just relishing on the meaning of company. He noticed Fujima at the other end of the line, now why does he think that everyone's here?, and by the benches, under the snowy shades of weeping cherries, ashen from snow and unbeautiful – he thought he saw the idiot, he thought he saw the Kainan seniors at the other shrine... it seems too familiar, this place of sanctity, was everyone hoping for forgiveness?

"Your order?" Mitsui taps his right foot, and he was more than willing to leave the cafeteria that was suddenly growing too small for his preference. Swivel your head for a while so as to seem that you're thinking. Sigh for a second, pay the bills.

"Soichiro Jin."

"Hey there," he smiles, getting out of the line after fetching his espresso.

"Everyone I think I know's here,"

"Yeah," he whispers, looking at his watch, "Some of us can't get original to even come up with a decent meeting place,"

"Tell me about it," Mitsui grins, and Rukawa twitches his eyebrow next.

The double doors open; it's too cold, like what reprisals are ought to be.

With a silent sigh Kiminobu Kogure closes the book, shifting himself, on the verge of impatience as he reckons it's been cosmic, like a one-month eternity, like the promise of forever that can only be fulfilled at the end of time, like the shimmering stars crying out for attention, and so he seizes them in his mind and closed his eyes – there was a beauty in not going back to Kanagawa because only in that place can the most obnoxious and faded memories come alive and but they are the only recourse, because what was left of beauty is empty, betrayed, and he felt immature at how he handled and controlled, at his calmness.

The train stops, and the automatic doors open in successive motion; people's everydayness he thought, the furry coats and layered shirts, because the snow has done too much for discomfort and here he is, trying to be calm, because Tokyo was too much for a place to move on, because its vastness only make him smaller – the way people come and go, the way he retards himself with these thoughts... is it now, he asks, that he should have everything to gain after losing?, because he has nothing to lose this time around, everything will fall in their dead ends and it is this emptiness he now wanted – because it felt unreal, and it is one thing he can hold on to.

"Going home, yes?"

It bellowed of familiarity.

"Shohoku is it?"

"Yeah, Kogure Kiminobu."

He sneers, and it almost reminded him of Mitsui.

"Came from Hakone, down by the bays,"

"I went there for a trip, I think," he replies, and the long fall of silence has made him remember clearly now – like the sun, like the source of all knowledge has come down upon him like a suppressed immaturity and uncertainty... and as the pang of silence swathed them it all occurred to Kogure how it will all play unreal and thus to his begrudged preference, to his purported resolve. The other hesitates for a second, unfastening himself like what he did to his shirt, and Kogure recoiled unnoticed. Sprawl your hands, securing all possible ways against unease, remembering it all clearly – shooting five hundreds, and the touching hands sting too sweetly and to Kogure, it foreboded him of the peril awaiting Kanagawa.

"We haven't got formal introductions."

"Well we do know each other from Inter High, right?"

Kogure sees now, the sun shines at night too... rhythmic, justly forthcoming, he muses, this perfect creature born from the comparisons and pathologies of Kogure against Mitsui: the hair, the pale skin and that innocent grin plastered in his face; he thought that there was something dangerous at the amorous play of their rolling tongues, that pretension flickers like the stars and playing naïve felt repentant, that honesty was in front of him and he was becoming a colossal force, a betrayal of himself and a reprisal for Mitsui and Rukawa... would he even notice?, he thought, would it all play out according to his purported knowledge?, is he that far from the station anyway? Thus did Kogure awoke at these thoughts inside the train when he fell asleep at Soichiro Jin's shoulder, like's he's calm and mature, like he was naïve and ignorant, and there was nothing else to do. He has nothing to lose, he muses, except himself, but was he even himself in the first place?

Speaking in the most silenced words, Jin smiles with unease.

"Y'missed... y'missed the stop over,"

And so did Kogure smile, that warm smile plastered in his face.

"It's okay, I'll take a cab."

Kogure stares right through him, that somber eyes and that pursing lips in his face, that pale skin which to him looked rotted and unbeautiful... but he's mature, he tells himself, the first drops of the downpour melted on his cheeks and a roaring sound came rushing forth towards them, and with all shadows cast everything felt real, and it was one thing he wanted. How was his life, he asks, in his mind's eye, did they touch each other everyday like they did not, did Rukawa fulfill the role of the sweet sting in Mitsui's agitations, did it all go according to their purported point of view? – these questions were all but failure to respond, because Mitsui will never speak of it, because it's been a month and they're over.

"It's gonna rain, won't you even let me in?"

That grin plastered in his face.

"Why should I let you in?"

It meant more than human decency.

"C'mon Kiminobu..." he sighs, "Just give it a thought. I fulfilled my promise."

"What made you on time?"

"I always do for you."

"Tomorrow, we'll talk. Same place."

The rain starts to beget the need for warmth, something to comfort him, like a bonfire, because the harsh snow last night has only swelled the absolutely zero temperature and the raindrops are jabbing Mitsui's back, like knives and they're stabbing him, this betrayal, this retaliation that was beginning... because he knew the dangers of reality, the peril that awaits within the confines of this harsh reality. Mitsui knew that if he does not bounce off of Rukawa's clouds both of them will suffer, and so he made the most mature resolve and sacrifice himself against the deceiving grip of distrust.

And so the door closes at last.

For the next long minutes, Mitsui will be standing in front of his house, like waiting for words to become thoughts and reflections to become exploits, and exploits will become history, and the rest will be real, everything will fall into place and he can go on living like it was yesterday.

He remembers now that Rukawa was going to meet him at the train station – believing that isolated streets were the most obnoxious places, but he knew that Kogure was going to be there, too, or so he thinks, when he overheard the senior by the shrine talking sheepishly, like he didn't notice the prying man when at the corner of their eyes they met, awkward, and somehow Mitsui knew what was going to happen... is it now, he thought, that Kogure is afflicting him of that notorious disease as well?

* * *

_tbc._


	5. Guilt

_Late update plus long prose equals lameness. Enjoy anyway.

* * *

_It wasn't from the oceans dropping enormously at his back, against his skin, his eyelids starting to twitch to take the water off of them, and surrounding him is a haze of swirling pallid coldness that only made his heart too warm, too passionate that Hisashi Mitsui has started to become still, just staring at the closed door while the temperature arrests him, but he's thinking of something to remind himself how wonderful the night would be and spending it with Rukawa, without the malice of the bodies, and how would everything fall into place, but the rain and snow have started their cadence, stinging him deadly – why is it now, he thought, that he wanted to run away from the cold but could not do so, well Kogure's out of sight anyway, so why is he bothering to stand still, right this moment, as if looking for the sun, the source of all revelations and torment... but under the bleakest sky there is, he can only anticipate for more distraction and distrust.

A twitch in the eyebrow; let it sink, let it all fade away like a passing raindrop... Mitsui thought he has everything to lose: that warm smile plastered in Kogure's face, the blitheness that Rukawa made him repossess, and it will all melt away, thawing against his skin, his eyes, softening against the cold heart and no one will mourn for him, not even the devil-may-care that is him... how long has he been here anyway?, he finally realized to ask, and did he do what he was excellent at – just melting away, like the rain, walking away, and the raindrops felt like wedges, stabbing him more than he wanted them to.

"Oh hi Mitsui."

He cannot recall that exactness of a time when Kiminobu Kogure mouthed his name for decency's sake, like he was going to start a conversation painted not with the best of invitations and where were they, he asks, was it on the gym that he actually took notice of those jaw lines?, oh he quite remembered it now, this blitheness of a man who thought that Kiminobu Kogure was the everyday humanness that he lacked and thus aspired, but suddenly it seems to him the way the tone foreboded him of displeasure, why here, now that Soichiro Jin is staring at him with ignorant eyes, well... Mitsui thought he was looking at the mirror, this doppelganger of sorts. He looks with nothingness, startled at this very revelation despite the absence of the sun... what is Kogure planning?

"Y'kay?" asks the youngster, and to this Mitsui waved a hand to echo a certain air of nonchalance, and so the Kainan shooter continues, "Y'ought not to get sick these days, rains and all that,"

"I know."

What he doesn't know, he tells himself... why is he here?, because he still reckons that Kainan was northbound while his house probably may be as far as the moon, why is he getting angry all of a sudden... is it remorse letting him feel what is it like to replaced by someone you look like? Yes, he tells himself again, he doesn't know any of Kogure's plans, but he knew they were no better than leaving him and enjoying time while the brown-haired planned ahead, reeking of vengeance, this antagonist that is the warm smile plastered on the brown-haired's face, this disguise, this–

"See 'ya 'round," he hears Jin mutter, and he turns his back so as not to see him knocking at Kogure's door, the sound of the knob turning sprains his mind like a screw, metal against flesh, and at the back of his mind he can Kogure and his warm smile, plastered towards the best of invitations, and Kogure planned him to witness this revelry and he will feel guilty for all the hesitations he had in their previous relationship. And so the sanest possible course of action was to leave and let them be, because he has to meet Rukawa tonight, by the train station, and he thought he could have this weight off of him by seeing that icy gaze that warmed all coldness remaining in him.

He remembers it quite fully, a month of explorations bargained for an eternity of bad conscience.

"Want t'share the showers? I have a hard time scrubbing my back,"

"I will after this."

Rukawa's eyes penetrated even the most blatant of Mitsui's grin, because he knew that their relationship was born from letting another one wither, and the very foundations of their dangerous liaison are reminders of their deception, of their carnality which bestowed freedom, and they were as playful as sinners selling relationships for happiness, this so-called solemnity of an act applying only to those who wanted escape and the same time sovereignty... well, now that Rukawa thought about it, relationships were not meant to be politics, or is it just this grinning Mitsui that let him lose his own liberty?

"Resolute as always," the other sighs, "I was gonna tell y'something,"

He was more than eager, this fox, all choices recourse to one thought.

"What?"

Hisashi Mitsui clears his throat, and no word came out.

"Well?"

"Uh, well, I thought that..." he hears himself mutter, the whispers of excuses and flash seconds of faltering, the devil-may-care has turned into a fluffy compassion and he went on to hold the other's arm, trying to invite him towards the shower, and he decided upon a resolve to let all things at ease before bestowing the freshman of euphoria and guilt onto himself. He kisses the pale skin, removing the shirt... it suddenly tasted like stale bread, but then again who would want him at this time but this stale Rukawa?, or would he rather just go on and pretend that their entwined bodies were like saccharine and forget what he did to Kogure?, or, sooner did he realize, to see that he has nothing to lose?

"We cooled it off," he whispers now, amazingly at that, since he knew he always forgets, and he went on striding for long minutes to reach his home, turn the knob, wave the sweetest hello at your parents and tell them you forgot your umbrella... change your clothes and sleep it all off, like when he used to when Kogure was telling him stories of them both, on a forgotten future. On this long fall of justice against Kogure, he thought of answering the buzzing of the freshman; why, he and the fox would be a force to be reckoned with, to show the brown-eyed that all of his plans of getting ahead will backfire on him, this envy to stir, and they will kiss passionately in front of him, to become the better doppelganger, to be the blitheness that is him. Is there a cure for guilt? – if there was, everyone would want some.

Soichiro Jin was the finest among his peers, not only because he had the air of silence that would play him of innocence; to Kiminobu Kogure, the measurements between him and Mitsui were no meager kind of pathology for him, that is – the differences only manifests by the time Kogure lets his unfairness out, this honesty which portended bad conscience which he, knowing himself all too well, would forever entangle upon this dangerous liaisons between them both, because two weeks can only tell what's on the surface – the interests, invitations and his maddening desire to accomplish this feat called jealousy... to the Kainan player, however, the sun always shines upon him, and he shan't be fooled. This uncomfortable silence is growing too reassuring for them both as he sat by the couch across the senior, just gazing, and he thought he has seen himself: the silence, the warm smiles plastered on their faces.

"I thought we'd be at the station?" he finally says, sipping his espresso.

"Some devil is up to something," Kogure decides to assert, "...y'know, privacy and all,"

While at the other end of the neighborhood, Rukawa Kaede sighs to himself inside the telephone booth, while across him the roaring sounds of the rails against friction can only do so much as to make him hope that the blue-haired will actually meet him, and that, although there was never any prospect for the devil-may-care to gather all remorse to meet him, he nevertheless hold onto something, this colossal force of a heart that... what was he thinking anyway?, he asks himself, this uncompromising disease of intimacy, nay; it wasn't intimacy anymore, but possession to him, and guilt over one person who thought he had nothing to lose, and that outdated lesson that seemed universal, the greatest thing, he thought, and onto this thought he smiled to no one but himself, and hung up the phone. He looks on, and the rain kept falling like a sojourner – a mere distraction, this meager soul that is suddenly him, as icy as his eyes are.

He knew that Mitsui was already symptomatic of the common emotional maladies, that one week ago, when they were practicing for next winter tournament, when the basketball gym spoke of cold and silence, when the rest of them were concerned to the absence of their captain... is it now, he thought, that the allusions to a more mature soon-to-be vice-captain were unconscious request to the previous vice-captain?, when Miyagi has appointed Yasuda? Oh yes, he quite remember the Kamakura shrines and the fireworks, the symbolic gesture of starting anew, when he thought he spotted the ominous Kogure with Soichiro Jin... well, he thought, he has absolute no problem with that, because Kogure can only threaten so much as to hire a doppelganger to let someone as original as Mitsui muse about jealousy, but yes, Rukawa did not intend to tell the other about it because he was resentful, and he wasn't old enough to think through what mature minds do, like Kogure, like Jin, because time with the blitheness that is Mitsui Hisashi was the end of all he knew.

"Yeah," Jin whispers, looking at his watch, "Some of us can't get original to even come up with a decent meeting place,"

"Tell me about it," Mitsui grins, and Rukawa twitches his eyebrow next. The double doors open and the Kainan player exits, and Rukawa feels the coldness of air.

"I'm not eating here," the other says next, his eyes touching upon the clumsy waiters and the shoddy tables and chairs, "...not that it's shoddy," he whispers, "but celebrating us with monoblock chairs is shoddy," he laughs.

"I said I'm watching the fireworks,"

"Fine, watch them then we go somewhere else, 'coz this place is getting threatening every second,"

"With them?" He looks at the nothingness of a place, the familiar faces whom he fought with his prowess with dribbling and passing and shooting, this Fujima and this Schinichi and his monkey of a protégé, these high school students who knew no else but the warmth of falling snow and the dramatic fireworks, who recognized only themselves in this pallid cafeteria, who took no heed of trivialities that is Rukawa and Mitsui; he thought there was something else, like an ominous storm of some sort, like what he did weeks ago, when he faltered to say that they cooled off... was Kogure here? And so he faces the pale blue-haired, that grin plastered on his face, and gathered all knowledge he has forgotten.

"Is sempai here?"

Mitsui recoils, and they step out of the place; ruffling his tresses, he thought of it as a gesture of remediation, like an injured soul knifed by suspicion. "No," he mutters, "...you are. Stop messing around, why am I here anyway?" and he gives his coffee to him, and sipping his own, "Let's go to the fireworks, the south pillar should give us a nice view ne?"

The train stops, and it refreshes anew with people, this everydayness, the way people come and go and inattentive to the quandaries by which he himself bestowed upon himself, these concerns that proved insignificant to others – with all those faces and their self-same expressions and nothing else, and Rukawa reminisces that one month ago, he felt like the universe revolved around him and he was the master of his own conscience, owning them, possessing all courage to scourge the earth with his happiness, well, he thought, so long as the blitheness of Mitsui was with him, as long as he forgotten how to be ahead of himself, to be certain as always... this place, he thought, is as bad as the murky lamp posts and darkened alleys; a thousand people and he never felt this isolated before.

"You're as perceptive as a shrink, Jin, y'know why I wanna talk," he awkwardly smiles, trying to see through the thick mist by the windows, and rain pours on, it savors its contact against the earth.

"Of course, I just saw Mitsui-san by the doors," the younger man replies, looking at the emblematic door which provided security against the frail eyes of the senior, and more than this observation was a feeling more than cooperative to what he signed up for; for weeks it was growing distressing, like waiting for a response, the pleasure, all the while smiling and he's waiting for the dangerous end of dalliance... this conquest he would endure to pursue, he thought, needed an understanding that frustrations are to be fulfilled, that love isn't pure until it's tainted, taken hopelessly, and a love corrupted will make Kogure learn the greatest lesson above all. He was shrink alright, he thought, and he smiled, yet again, although the other can notice this silent understanding he can only do so much as to be baffled.

"It's espresso," he sips, "...y'remember."

"Yes I do..." whispers the senior, "...I do realize what you've done to me... that's why, why I wanna end all this," he smiles bitterly, "Y'know I'm just, uhm... using you,"

Yes, Soichiro Jin remember it quite immaculately, because as naïve as his smile is, his soundless discernments compensate for his lack of any defiant words, because one month ago, when he seized Kogure with his arms he was going to partake in a dangerous play of emotions... who didn't know about the two of them anyway?, the rumors were true, he witnessed it himself, Soichiro Jin was bound to a role and he nevertheless accepted it; oh disarming soul... sweet Soichiro, what we do for love.

"A better version of me," Kogure finally says, smiling now with ease, this uncomfortable silence that has been growing too calmly, the warm smiles plastered on their faces.

"I've been waiting for y'to say that." For the next cosmic hours, the two of them will spend the night without the malice and the greediness of the body, without guilt over the past and with the blessings of future; the night shall clear them away with no rains but the snow, the pallid hues which meant purity; stars awaken within the darkness, the moon bathing anew with the cold winds, for the enormity of their endeavor towards this end of dalliance was growing scenic for them – in the next few days they will be spending the rest of the vacation down by Hakone bays, both with nothing to lose and everything else to gain. At this dead of the night, Hisashi Mitsui and the lost blitheness that is him stares right through Rukawa's windows, and he's as still as the calmness of nighttime and he pounds a pebble against it; and so the other opens, hopelessly hopeful – and thus did he stare, vulnerable to anything that would graze Mitsui's vision. And so he just looks on, the meaning of which would be revealed to both moments after when he reckoned that this was exactly how he stalked Hisashi Mitsui, the so-called devil-may-care, the consummate blitheness who would go on depths to traverse the snowy and wet pavements, when it's been one month and he wanted no other choice but to play ignorant, and to hope – because the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.

"What're you doing here?" asks Rukawa.

"Nothing."

Hands slither away from each others' touch and but only to travel towards the restless collarbones, reaching, trying to subdue what's left of all resistances, and only the wet and icy asphalt and darkness and a lonesome lamp post were the witnesses to the erratic language of their bodies – how long were they, what places have they reached and only to realize, that at time's end it was only four minutes that Mitsui and Rukawa have tangled themselves like long lost and star-crossed lovers. Mitsui has nothing to lose; Rukawa has everything to gain, and the rest felt unreal – for it is one thing they both wanted... is it now, thought Rukawa, that they're starting this vicious circle again?

* * *

_tbc._


	6. Awareness

Atop the silent witness of all incitements towards intimacy, of all heartbreaks and tender words, of all tender secret touches, the rooftop was as prominent among the minds of these youngsters, these people who measured bitterness greatly than the sweetness by which they thought to be uncompromising to what they do, and Hisashi Mitsui twitches an eyebrow when the vertical flexed its white nimbus so as to hide the sun, and the only company he has, right now, thinking that Kogure will not be showing up, are the breeze and the pretext for absence, this thoughtful maturity that is Kiminobu Kogure who has turned into a colossal force much stronger than he anticipated, this thoughtful maturity, he thought, who no longer was Kogure... and if he was here, beware – thinks Mitsui... what cautious stance must he be in to suppress that guilt; how would he speak of silence to be meaningful enough at the depths of an impending heartache that he will be downplaying? Oh yes, this enchantment, how lost is Mitsui, the way that his sight can only peruse what is on the surface, what blitheness thinks of thoughtlessness, where all he could muster is his hope that what he is right now is more than what he thinks it is – this weakness... yes, the weakness that is Mitsui, how he downplayed everything.

He walks northbound, looking beyond, and the Shohoku is a ghost town; it was a two-week vacation for all high school students, and to majority of these adolescent minds it was an interval, a lull, something to keep them alive for awhile (for two weeks, Mitsui thinks) – and to the reflecting blue-haired, two weeks is an eternity of demanding choices, of maturity against freedom, and when the collars of his jacket begin to sway with the biting temperature of empty winter, he comprehends that Kiminobu Kogure will not be meeting him today. And yet he can hear the reprieve which he died longing for.

"Y'early."

"A nice change," he finally speaks out, "...y'came here to break me now?" He can hear the other sigh, he can sense all sense of boredom which he previously accused onto the brown-haired, he can feel everything he accomplished breaking.

"I dunno..." he walks towards him, "But if I hate y'both still it'll only prove I'm not only blind but dead,"

Silence.

"Lovely sky isn't it?" he smiles; that grin plastered in face – but to Kogure, it can only invite a poker-faced blitheness, this irreversible past; because this is exactly the question he asked when Hisashi Mitsui incited him towards intimacy.

And remembering that it was, his reply was well-reminisced, "...it actually is."

"Such great height we were, eh?" Mitsui says, and he knew that several years ago; he imagined himself, and the universe revolved around him and he was the master of his conscience, owning them, possessing all courage to scourge the earth with his happiness... well, so long as Kogure kept on visiting him at the hospital and anticipate his return at the basketball club, as long as he forgotten how to be behind himself, to be at the rear as always... this rooftop, he thought, was the place of all invitations, incitements and heartbreaks, the greatest height, and but all he can see below is emptiness.

"The best of what y'were," says the other, and to Mitsui, it only meant consolation... or is it really?, he hopes, he thinks to hope, "...but y're no more than a mirthful stranger today."

"They tell me so, and y'know why I am the fuckhead that is today. The lazy world is mine and my heart is theirs to break," he looks on, the horizon that was cast with grey hues.

"Yeah?" he smiles, "I thought y'were the good 'ole sweet player?"

"I think I heard that b'fore." Both of them smiled; both of them knew how it will all end, this almost-three-months of gorge burrowed by the misfortunes of the past and the maddening frustration towards a better future, almost three months of absence and the longing for presence; to Mitsui, it can only be too positive for his own preference that he, the weakness that is him, thought that it was imminent disaster – this time had better last, he curses, in his mind's eye, this time had better last if it was going to be the only memory he would be having... to the brown-haired, it was an invitation to depart. Three months for them both meant a fleeting note against their earshot, and promises were as infinite as possibilities; three months for them both meant realization.

"I'm going to Hakone," he suddenly whispers. "...two weeks. That'll give y'time to rethink of breaking with Rukawa."

The silence that they sigh, and thus did it drift among themselves, the spaces they're trying to sieve; the advent of heartbreak, Mitsui tells himself, this thief robbing their time, and of restraint, and Kogure's revelation, bothered as it is – the weakness that is Mitsui and the paleness of his touch as Kiminobu Kogure passes him by... and in his isolation, he was silently fine, he muses, truth is an uptight silence... is it now, he thought, that he is bleeding thankfully?, to let someone give you freedom to mess around again, as he carries on to Hakone bays, with that doppelganger, to be dallying anew? He stares at Kiminobu Kogure as he turns the knob of the rooftop door; a twitch in the eyebrow; let it sink, let it all fade away like a passing breeze... staring like he's wishing, the clacking sound of the knob, this thundering snapping sound of metal against his touch, this bellowing force that made Mitsui wince, although unnoticeable – did Kogure notice it?, he asks, because he didn't want him to be seen wincing, cringed by what he thinks he knows, by what he thinks he heard a flash second ago, because he doesn't want to be seen by him cowering at the depths of all this freedom that has been bestowed upon him, this clacking sound that made him vulnerable, this lingering wisdom in his head that taught him to be behind himself as always... and Soichiro Jin appears from nowhere, fetching the senior, prying, and they take their leave – and thus did the door close at last, yet again.

This was the dangerous end of their dalliance.

* * *

Neon streetlights buzzes against his earshot, and at the depths, at the corner of his eyes, the horizon was as bleak as the sky, no stars, he thought; it's snowing, and the Kanagawa train station illumined him with the whitest of fluorescent lights, and people come and go like they always do, like of the same minds, and Kogure can only be baffled amidst the certainties of these faces, and the shadows cast upon the tiled floors were moving like the daily breeze, the kind of air that he breathes these days, these brewed poisons in him and among these is the venom that he will be brewing – well, Kogure thought, as long as the Kainan player would mouth that sweet sting of consent, as long as he didn't look frantic enough so as to encourage a sense of pity, of or a feeling of commiseration towards one thing he despised... himself, he thought, and he stares upon these faceless crowd... he now smiles, amused by the bold declarations of the silent but forlorn heart and mature so-called mind, razing himself down by the long fall of stretches at the train station; his flawed sense of time and of all the cruelties he would be intending... 

Soichiro Jin buckles himself in his seat when he thought that the train hastened with such a pace that, he thinks, it was ironic to feel like there was something odd at all these when the rest of the world knew nothing, the way their bodies sway but what their ears cannot heed, this mortal knowledge, the fascination, well... he thought, as long as Kogure keep that poor health Mitsui and Rukawa were giving him, the naiveté of his silences and the longing of an innocent beat that his heart skips... oh yes, the idealistic Soichiro Jin pursuing the most down-to-earth relationship that would see its own demise; love was supposed to save, he thought; it ought not to prioritize nor share, love wasn't supposed arrest, nor was it... yes, he recalled; how can he say such things when he isn't witness enough to profess an undying antipathy against priorities and the supposed pathologies of relationships...?

Well, he thought, he will find the springtime while it sings like a lost lark, down by the station; where he never found anything to disarm such a disarming soul, looking for something lost so he can find beauty which lay hidden, not walking away – up the skies, Jin can see the world's horizon lacing into murky grays of nighttime and the truth has dawned upon him, hidden in questions and hesitations... was he disarmed himself?, he smiles at himself, where will this end, today and forever? – what mystery does this feeling hold for him, he realizes, and when the automatic double doors opened he wears his coat, and proceeds west, down by the cafeteria, and walking away with his espresso he leaves towards the benches; talk it all out, sip his coffee and walk away, with him, into springtime, smile as always, and forget the future.

"I'm late, I know," he scratches his head, handing Kogure a cup of coffee.

"Thanks..." he sips, "Where're we goin?"

He sits beside him, and both of them watches the people of everydayness, passing them by.

"I absolutely have no idea."

Silence.

"We can go to Kamakura ne, the festival might be good, no?"

"Swell..." he stares into him, "But I hear they're there, so... I don't–"

"All the more reason to go there then," Kogure's voice sounded too confident, mature, and Jin, assured of his innocence, had no reserve of a thought to reply.

"I thought y're over that?"

Kogure narrows his eyes.

"I thought I was. But then you imagine them licking each other and it makes me puke. I want them to gag,"

"Kogure..." he whispers, "...y'wont undo the past by talking backwards."

"Well I..." trailing off, nodding down, "...d'y'think I'm fundamentally evil? I called myself a saint, but if I was then everybody would be screwing up against me,"

He smiles. "I never thought of y'cursing... I..." he trails off, "...I like y'coz y'like to find new reasons of living, y'know, like two weeks ago y'told me y'wana have a bright future ahead of ye," he flexes his arms, trying to shoot in the air, "...but I think y'prefer to be miserable instead."

Kogure's speechlessness made him continue, "Move on. I'm here."

The senior forms a grimacing smile. A lack of blitheness was the same reason for wanting it.

"...and I might get even more jealous," Jin smiles bitterly.

"I will, one of these days."

And all their movements will lead into a crumbling colossal force for Mitsui and Rukawa, these arrangements of further decadence, and for the following weeks Kogure will plan and will always be ahead of himself, and each poison will disappear without a trace for him and but will linger upon the blue-haired blitheness that is Mitsui, and Soichiro Jin will have to impart whatever conscience Kogure left within him; it was all of the latter's choice and the Kainan player's compromises.

* * *

"I never made a promise, Rukawa." The freshman stares with threatening narrowed eyes, that icy glance that penetrated his blitheness, "...but that's... that's not it," he continues, "Y'and I both know where we're gonna end up," 

"Where?" he asks, because Kaede Rukawa has forgotten to be ahead of himself, and moments with the blue-haired were the end of all he knew, because uncertainty was exciting only to vague people whose main arsenal for attraction was their body, their uncompromising bodies and their idle priority towards the fleeting sensation of the flesh, of compensations and insecurities, because Kaede Rukawa can only offer too much freedom that it's suffocating.

"Nowhere."

Mitsui looks straight at him. The raven-haired is as still as the white clouds; he thought, why is he like this?, why did the universe stopped revolving?, anticipation has the habit of setting you up, he muses, like he was just waiting for it and has consigned himself to this fate since. Courage is as colossal as dependence on this fly-by-night blitheness that is Hisashi Mitsui, and while he thought of combating this disease, he can only nourish it so that one day it will bite off his hand, this frailness that is him, he thought, losing his apathy and the knowledge of selling relationships were the best concoction to poison him; why?, he asks, why waste all that has been invested?

"Y'need time? Y'have plenty then,"

"Y'fucking don't understand, Rukawa,"

He steps forward, and he does not smile.

"I've always been the devil-may-care shithead, and you've always known that."

"Then why break with someone your kind?"

Rukawa steps forward, and he does not smile. "Isn't it convenient?"

"Wha?–"

"For y'to just..." he falters, "The world is yer's'and its heart's yer's'to break."

A long fall of silence, and the rain starts to drop heavy upon them. How many days, the hours of endless explorations, the raven-haired counts, was Mitsui always like this when he was with him?, when Mitsui was undressing himself for him?, when he was following him to his house?, when Mitsui was throwing pebbles at his windows?... and as the first drop thawed on his cheek, he thought of crying, but tears, he reckons, meant of surrender, and he was more than willing to fight for what he has, to everything he has... and so Rukawa looks at him, trying to subdue what was left of all surrender, because he knew that he was going to yield.

"Y're an arrested development."

And so was he, Rukawa realizes, reverting to ignorance when he was always ahead of himself, because decadence was exhilaration, because it was one way to destroy previous things towards righteousness; but today, at the Shohoku's rooftop, it felt that it all backfired on him, this dangerous end of dalliance to give birth to another; is it now, he thought, that Mitsui has afflicted him of this notorious uncompromising disease, this freedom, this unbeautiful freedom to be certain again? The heart shivers, he realizes, the day clears with heavy rain like tears, Rukawa was no more than mere distraction for the malady that is Hisashi Mitsui, this blitheness, the thoughtlessness by which the universe left him, and all the lust died out for them.

"I know."

Did he now?, he thought, suspicious; the audacity of Mitsui's voice can only fool him too much... why be with his kind if he knew in the first place?, he thought angrily. Four weeks ago Rukawa knew that Mitsui was going to be what he was good at: to lose nothing, the world is his and the choices are his to own, and how Rukawa endured all uncertainties. Rukawa stares, vulnerable to anything that would graze Mitsui's vision. And so the expressionless freshman can only do what he was good at, like Mitsui; to savor what losses he will be having – Mitsui had nothing to lose and Rukawa had everything to waste, that it was a coerced understanding between them both and Mitsui was resolved and satisfied and Rukawa will always hope some more. It was all neither amorous, nor was it the body he can offer, with no sense of judgment, which was the foundation of their relationship... or was it really?, thought Rukawa, because losses are not good, and without this capricious Hisashi Mitsui all ends into certainty, something that the freshman feared because such fate would only make him mundane.

Yes, the reasons for desiring him were the same ones for despising him. "Carry on then," he whispers, "...not that he'd come back."

"And y'think that'll perchance make me bounce t'ye?" he grins now, at ease.

"I'm hoping."

He stares at Kaede Rukawa as the freshman turns the knob of the rooftop door, leaving, and the sound of the closing door was a pang of guilt for Hisashi Mitsui.

* * *

_tbc._


	7. The Hedgehog's Dilemma

_The chronology is reversed to emphasize something (which the title of the fic means to express); unoriginal, but enjoy anyway. Thanks for reading.

* * *

_

The sun hides against the backdrop of clouds and Rukawa relieved at the shade when he closed his eyes in time to think of nothing else but the haunting words and the water tank begins to emit coolness when his head could only be as infuriated; he felt betrayed, these faceless crowd who seemed to know nothing has delighted on his miseries and here he is, by the rooftop, the silent witness to all incitements and heartbreaks, trying to plan ahead so he could ignore those deadly facelessness and their secret knowledge of what was between him and Mitsui. He flexes his back, trying to be comfortable, and when it proved otherwise he stood up, ruffling his tresses, looking beyond – such great heights, he thought, and he felt alone.

The door opens to reveal the weakness that is Mitsui; but to Rukawa, it felt that it was time to relinquish any more knowledge and forget the deceiving feelings of lying, because he's near, he tells himself – Mitsui was too near for a touch and yet they were facing each other from remote places... when Mitsui waved his hand, Rukawa did not reply (not even a glance), and looked ahead – the vertical rises in the heat of the afternoon... what time is it?, he asks himself, what beauty does this bleak horizon hide?

"Hey," Mitsui was the first to break the ice, but it was rejoined with a silent hiss.

"I know yer not speaking. You're so wise beyond your year."

Is he now?, Rukawa thought, suspicious; will he be plastering that grin across his face yet again?, he asks, so that he can be incited?, so he can delight at the thought of him and Mitsui, together, in this bleak horizon? – well, he thought, it was the fear of this blitheness that takes getting used to. He faces him, not twitching his gaze – the somberness that is Mitsui, and Rukawa does not understand.

"I hate you, I fucking like you," he mutters, and he looks up the sky – under the bleakest sky there is, he and Mitsui shared the same feeling.

"I know."

Silence.

Mitsui faces the horizon, and he looks on as if there was something hidden in those abstract clouds and the yellow sunbeams – the blue sky, the amassed fog, the warmth and his pale face... Mitsui was someone to be despised for all the symptoms that meant his mind was in decay, and he was also someone to be loved because this emotional downfall is what makes him beautiful. Would he trust that somber face?, Rukawa asks himself, would he sacrifice his own safety by sharing it?, would the universe betray him for everything he will be having?

"Lovely sky, isn't it?" Mitsui smiles as he stares at him. He looks at the sky again. No, Rukawa thought, they were under the bleakest sky there is... and while the rest of the world felt anonymous, while the world knew nothing of what they both know, Rukawa can only do so much as to be bewildered by these dualistic feeling of hating him, and needing him... yes, he tells himself, he should grow up. And so he looks up the sky, feeling its warmth.

"It certainly is."

It was nine in the morning when the raven-haired freshman opened the locks of the gymnasium and proceeded his monotonous activity, trying to distract himself against this isolating sense of seclusion, trying to divert himself from this jarred compulsion to need company, trying to reconcile these contradictions that, as he sweats his body away at his second lap, he runs for the ball, shooting, trying to see what it was like to be the blitheness of Mitsui as he makes his three-points – it pounces against the ring. He sighs; these aimless memories, and he shoots again – he makes his shot, barely missing. He takes another ball, assessing the distance between him and his destination – where would he be going, after all these?, he asks, because here is nowhere and nearness is as fearful as being a far-eyed stranger to this blitheness that is Mitsui... what distance shall he take so as not to seem defensive, and hopeless at the same time?

He misses.

He takes another ball, his sneakers sounding off against the gleaming floors; this is no three-point shot, he tells himself; he already stepped at the line... nearer, he thought, and he shoots – well, he thought, there is no distance at all, because it's been one month and a week and they're supposed to be over... and there were no promises, and maybe it was his loss of apathy that made him forget the best of who he was – distrustful, alone – well there's nothing wrong about being alone, he says to himself, the boredom that is him may be the best of who he was, until the fleeting sense of uncertainty dirties him with the beauty of the body and the greatest thing he could ever learn... what is it again now?, he asks, because moments with Mitsui is the end of all he knew.

He makes a shot this time.

He goes farther; this is supposed to be a four-point shot, but there's no such thing, he complains, assessing his distance, dribbling the ball, thinking like he's assured enough to repel any sense of neediness to touch, to talk, to hear thoughts that are not his – to be on a higher state of awareness, to be an outlaw, to starve the heart and nourish the condescending mind, to despise the lovely nonsensical mutterings (the assurances and eternities, he thinks), the sweet garlands and bodies that are not tepid to the touch... as the ball flies upwards, he thinks of Hisashi Mitsui's smile, that grin plastered in his face, the beauty of what he lacks and the wondrous harmony of what he has – he had nothing to lose and Rukawa was supposed to gain everything, but all are lost within a month... preceded with an infinity of encounters and a fleeting relationship, he recalls, and he runs for the balls, trying to seize what can only be a thought, and so did he grab it in the air... and thinking that it was supposed to be this way, he jumps higher – it was the glory he can be proud of – and dunks, and all are left with reverberating sounds inside the gym when the rest of the team saw the so-called feat.

"Hnn..." he mutters, and the practice starts.

Long cosmic hours fall upon them.

"Rukawa, a word please?"

He draws himself near.

"What?"

"They should be coming here after lunch, so,"

He didn't reply.

"Y'don't have to involve the team in yer mess."

"I'm not."

"Right... that's why Sakuragi scored more points than you,"

"What's in it for you?" his voice was trying to threaten.

"Nothing. I just don't like the team getting fucked up too."

He stares, managing to be not taken aback.

"The world is yours to break just 'coz of yer petty love life. Grow up, Rukawa."

When the lunch break came, he was nowhere to be seen.

Hisashi Mitsui awoke against the deadly afternoon sunbeams, and his clock beside him began to send out thundering clicks as its hand begin to slowly swerve, he realizes it's one hour past lunch; and so he went downstairs, and saw the crumpled paper clipped against the electric bill by the refrigerator... well, they could spend some time off trying to comprehend the dysfunctional weakness that is him, he thought, at least his parents are not well-informed by how decadent his life is... more crappy basketball practice, he tells himself; if only he was the captain, everything might've been well, like ignoring Rukawa and winning games instead... like resisting all boredom and kept Kogure... he could be the best of who he was, he could still be standing at such great heights – he could be living the fluorescent adolescence, falling in love and marrying, having miniature versions of himself... he could be having a bachelor degree; well, he thought of enlisting for physical education, that's what his body's for anyway...

Open the door, turn the faucet – wash your face, trying to look anew with a fresher face, trying to look ahead at the time which he rewound and only to be foreboded with splitting images of Rukawa, his pale face, what his body can offer... dry yourself, eat your breakfast, and slouch by the sofa... he tells himself, mechanically at that – well, he thought, he could be the rising basketball star in Japan if he didn't quit the team two years before, and in so doing he could be anticipating Kogure every second, feeling no discontent, and he could be the man whose life was not absurd enough as to make him lust for men like him, or maybe he could detest them instead – well, he thought, he could be not smoking, like what's he is doing right now – he could be the best of who he was.

Turn on the TV, watch the reruns of Chicago Bull, and dream away, like he was someone else, trying to slam dunk against the tall American bodies, priding himself; he could be the best of who he is... and right now he's as blind as the bat, preying at nighttime, sensing only what could be heard, because whatever his sight can peruse can only be marginal as to give him what is sweet and optimistic, because he could be sweet and optimistic, he thought, he could be the best of who he was.

And so did he take his shower, tidying himself with all the malicious thoughts... he could be sharing this shower with Rukawa, and everything would be normal; he could be certain, ahead of himself as always, because he could be sweet and share undivided moments with him, because he could be optimistic and look ahead, confident enough to challenge the burden of resolves and time... and he stroke himself away, trying to release whatever malice his body can contain, he can only realize what terrible mind he has against the pale fox, and so did he increase his pace, his caress is too numb to be felt; he did it with handful of dirt, and Rukawa, the hopeful raven-haired travels with him and but he is out of sight, all these lucid visions in which time didn't interfere at all are drained away as the waters trickle against his back.

The phone rings next.

He dries himself, looking at his schedule.

"I can't," he says, dissuading himself. "No, I haven't..." he continues, "...not that he'd come back. It's better this way, I would only do damage,"

"No damage cannot be repaired," says the other line.

"Ah fuck off, y'speak like ye'r an experienced assfucker,"

"Like hell you'd not come back. You're as deprived as a porcupine."

"Whatever. I gotta go to practice, don't worry, I'll take care of the team."

"The team is depreciating. Y'gotta do something 'bout this."

"Yeah yeah," and he hangs up the phone. It seems now, he realizes, how colossal was the burden of time; the departure of Akagi and Kogure has crippled the team and it was his self-proclaimed duty to bury the past and decide for what should be – to win the Inter High, he mutters to himself... is it now, Mitsui thinks, that everything would be fine?

Watch it all disappear now, he thought, that which makes everything too picturesque for his own good, sweeping him off like the tidal waves – break it, he tells himself, mold it like a clay, sculpt it like cauldron, this temptation, this all-too-soon of an encounter, this needlessness, and he, as used as he is – as all those touches make him small, insignificant, as all these ways of fake endearment were cloying against his taste... salty, perhaps?, he asks, why then would it all fall under him, this tremendous weight on which the universe provided for him, this lonesome time – at the same time did Kaede Rukawa remembered, the mundane and self-absorbed thoughts that are his, that at time's end it was only four minutes that they were on this road, that it was a feeling of isolation and company at the same time... is it against the rules of nature, to suspend lightheartedness towards the precedence of exhaustion?

He can only feel too much, he's too aware of himself and the uselessness (the only probable thing he may be excellent at, it seems), and... well, what comes after this then?, he asks as his tongue swirls with wetness, and the feeling that it gives to Hisashi Mitsui – well, where will it all end?, devouring him like a predator... well a hopeful one at that, he smiles and the other begins to be baffled.

What now?, thinks Mitsui, what can the mind summon if only it would remind what decay it has?, the forgotten past and avoidance of future, the lonesome post by which his thigh felt its asphalt roughness, the cold touch... oh how well did he marvel at the wanton thoughts, he grins, the lust for life has become the neediness of the body, the self-wretchedness and the rejection of that fucking universe, he curses, because the world is his and it was time to forget it; he had nothing to lose and only a bulging pants to gain, and the rest of the world felt unreal.

To him, all ends into a sense of certainty – no measurements and pathologies, patience and sentience, of thinking and being aware... all are lost when his hands reaches for Rukawa's shirt, trying to take them off, as if the world existed for him and it was his playground... the weakness that is him, the wondrous feeling of his skin grazing the other's eyebrow... to Mitsui, it all ended too sweetly, because what was left was empty, and he needed nothing else but the luscious lips, enduring, and their tongues meet – savor it, he tells himself, and so he guides Rukawa's hand onto his groin... this fastidious urgency, he thought, was one thing he can only offer – a divine discontent that was his life.

And so did Rukawa remember what it felt.

"...what now?" says the other, exasperated, sighing.

He pulls away, and he does not flinch.

"No use," he whispers, tucking his shirt back in when the lamppost stopped shedding light onto this ancient encounter, this all-too-familiar thread they're walking, this hate, Rukawa muses, the frustration by which the mind can only recall what was unbeautiful and deceiving, and he sighed for relief knowing that Mitsui will not see what his face actually hides – in the darkness, the seemingly stark face turns sober enough to elicit a frustrated expression, and he sighs, knowing nothing else.

"That crotch of yours says otherwise," he points out, mocking.

"It's not th'way it's-upposed to be," he utters at the depths of the darkness, too willing, this tone of a voice which retrieved every hope, the way that this blitheness that are limbs of Mitsui, the prowess of the body, he recalls, was as forgettable as three-second release for this pale Mitsui... is it now, thought Rukawa, that he was only nine minutes for this devil-may-care, when Mitsui was eternity for him?, when the worlds collided and he was mere filth?, that he was as mundane as the darkness... right now, he thought, the lonesome lamppost has started to lose all burden when Rukawa finally takes a step backwards...

Although the other cannot notice, Rukawa can only hope some more, to seize what is only a thought.

"What now?"

"Y'jerk off, y'go home, and forget tonight."

"Fuck you–"

He tries to grin.

"You already did."

* * *

_fin._


End file.
